Narnian fanfic
Death Wand
Disclaimer I do not own Narnia, Aslan, or anything C.S. Lewis created. I can only add. It's his work and I'll try my best to make it worthy of being a fanfic of the Chronicles of Narnia.
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Chapter 1
My name is of no importance to anyone who might be reading this, though it is likely enough to be found out before long. I wish with all my heart that my confession would remain anonymous, but since that is impossible while it is still a confession, I shall proceed and let my noble readers guess the name which I long so much to hide. My story starts in London, England, but that is not where I write from now. Today, my noble reader will observe from the date on this scroll, is March the 15th, in the year of the Red Lion. Only 5 years after the Great War and the breaking of winter over Narnia. I write from the cliffs that border our great castle, Cair Paravel. As I watch the waves of the eastern ocean crash upon the sand, I remember the crash of the bombs that fell on our home in London. Sometimes at night, when I am asleep, the sound of the waves upon the sea shore takes me back to that terrible night, the night before we left our home for the last time…
I stood at the window, watching the flash of fire as bombs dropped in the street near our house. The noise was deafening, but still I watched, thinking how wonderful it would be to fly and fight; having complete control over the lives of people I didn't even know. Never thinking that I my self might be killed by the guns from below. Oh I dreamed of the glory of battle then, well have I learned my lesson since those days.
I was alone in the room with the curtains pulled back to allow a better view of the bombs as the dropped out of the midnight sky. Searchlights lit-up the dark night and sirens sounded, warning the people of London to run for their bomb shelters. Suddenly, my mother was running to me.
"What do you think you're doing?" she pulled me from the window sill, closed the curtains and out of the room while shouting for my older brother, Peter.
"Get the girls and get to the shelter, NOW!" she gave me a shove and sent me on my way. I ran past Susan and Lucy who were grabbing torch and teddy bear, and ran out the door with Peter on my heels. Mother, Susan and Lucy were already in the shelter when I remembered.
"Wait! Dad!"
I turned and ran back into the house with mother shouting after me. The house shook with the impact of a bomb in the street right out side our house, but I made it up the stairs and into the living room where I had been watching the bombing only moments before.
There it was. On a small table beside the sofa was the picture. My father, a captain in the British army, had sent us that picture only a month before. It was the only picture we had of him in his army uniform and there was no way I was about to loose it.
I grabbed the picture just as the window exploded. I felt Peter fall on top of me. As soon as the glass stopped falling on us, Peter grabbed me and I just managed to grab the photo as he pushed me roughly out the door. Together we ran to the shelter and he pushed me inside. I landed beside mother as Peter stood staring at me from the door of the shelter.
"You are so selfish! You could have got us killed!"
I gave him a hard look as I held the now broken photo of my father. Peter continued to stare as my mother gathered me into her arms.
"Why can't you just do as you're told?"
He stared for a moment longer then shut the door and the room went pitch black. I crept into my bunk and lay still facing the wall. The black night closed in around me as I fought to keep the tears back. I would NOT cry over something so small. So what if my brother had no respect for me? Someday I would be bigger than him and then I would show him. Oh yes, I would show him! He was not my father. He could play father until my REAL father came home from the war. Then, THEN, he'd learn.
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I stood on the train platform with my mother, a dark haired woman about 40, Peter, a golden haired brat (well I thought he was a brat) of 15, Susan, a dark haired 'mother wanna be' of 14 and my youngest sister Lucy who at the age of 9 always told the truth, which often got me into trouble. My mother was pinning our identification on us so we would not loose it. We were being sent away to the country, away from the bombing. Stupid grownups, don't they know we can take care of ourselves? But I did not say this, I thought of something better to say that might not get me a tongue lashing from mum.
"If dad were here he wouldn't make us go."
Smart mouth Peter beat mum to the response. "If dad were here it would mean the war was over and we wouldn't have to go!"
"You will listen to your brother wont you?" If mum expected me to go down on my knees and beg forgiveness and swear to be the best 12 year old boy that ever lived and to kiss the ground that Peter walked on while we were gone, she was sorely disappointed. I didn't even nod. She sighed and tried to pull me into a hug. I pushed away. She sighed and tried to kiss me, I pushed away again. I knew they all hated me, why should I treat them with anything less? She gave up and turned to Peter.
"Take care of the others." She said as she hugged him. such emotional things grownups and girls were, it was truly disgusting. Peter was worse than any girl sometimes.
"I will mum." He said as he actually hugged her back.
"Good man." Mum said and turned to Susan. I grimaced. Man? She called him a man? He was 15 for goodness sake! And there was certainly nothing good about that silly little emotional snot nosed brat of a big brother. Right then I prayed that I would never be like him when I was older. Mum finished hugging Susan and Lucy who were crying their eyes out by now, and sent us off.
Susan led the way toward the train with me following and Peter holding Lucy's hand behind me. Peter looked completely dazed as we stopped and a woman in a uniform asked us for our tickets. Susan finally grabbed the tickets from peter and handed them to the woman. She only glanced at them before waving us on. Susan acted like she had all the experience in the world and tried to make me do everything she said so 'I wouldn't get hurt TRYING to get on the train'. I was finally able to shake myself loose and squirmed my way through the crowd toward the train. Of course I knew how to get on a train by my self!
I looked back and saw that Peter and Lucy had stopped. I saw tears rolling down Lucy's cheeks and Peter bending over to comfort her. He looked so much like a mother hen I almost laughed. When we finally got on the train, Susan, Peter, Lucy and I squeezed our heads out of the window to wave goodbye. I only waved once then pulled back and watched as my pathetic siblings waved until mum and the station were out of sight. Finally, Peter led the way to the compartment. He put Lucy's trunk up on the rack above us and reached for mine, but I pulled away and put it up on the rack myself. Good grief! Does he think that I can't do ANYTHING my self?
The rest of the trip was boring. Absolutely nothing exciting happened. Lucy played with her little stuffed dog for a while then tried to hand it to me. I reluctantly took it then handed it to the little boy sitting across from me. Lucy looked disappointed but she smiled at the little boy as if to say 'just keep it'.
Finally, we reached our destination. The train pulled to a stop and the whistle blew. We filed off the train and stood until it had passed. When we heard the sound of a car a few moments later, we ran down to see if it was our ride. Obviously, the gent driving wasn't our ride since all he did was honk at us and keep driving. I sighed and looked at my tag as Susan, as always, stated the obvious.
"The Professor knew we were coming."
I decided to state the lesser known thought.
"Perhaps we've been incorrectly labeled."
But perhaps it was the first time I had ever been wrong because no sooner were the words out of my mouth than we here the crack of a whip and the clip clop of hooves, and around the corner came a white horse pulling a wooden cart. In the cart sat a middle aged lady, around the same age as mum. Her hair was in a tight bun at the nape of her neck and she wore a maroon hat. She sat very primly on the cart as if she was the queen of the world and her simple cart was a golden chariot drawn by four snow white horses. She eyed us closely and finally, Peter spoke up.
"Mrs. McCready?"
"Aye" She said with a nod of her head. "Is this it then? Didn't ye bring anything else?"
"No marm," Peter said. "It's just us."
"Small favors." She said and motioned us to hop in.
That night, we gathered in Lucy and Susan's room to listen to the radio. When the announcer started talking about German aircraft and the bombings, Susan turned it off. Lucy the little whiner started moaning about scratchy sheets. Susan came over to her bed where Peter was sitting.
"Wars don't last forever, Lucy. We'll be home soon."
"Yeah, if' home's still there." I saw no point in Susan trying to play miss prissy optimist.
Susan moaned.
"Isn't it time you were in bed?"
"Yes Mum!" I retorted to her motherly mimic.
"Ed!" Peter growled at me. He turned to Lucy, who was obviously scared since she didn't understand everything… as usual. "You saw outside. This place is huge! We can do whatever we want here. Tomorrow's going to be great… Really."
I sighed at his pointless optimistic approach to the worst thing that could ever happen: rain.
The next morning, the rain pounded down until the roof shook. Susan was trying to get Peter to play a pointless game where she read out these ridiculously long words from the dictionary and Peter tried to guess what they meant. Lucy stared out a window while I carved my name on the bottom of one of the chairs. At least I was leaving a mark on history! I groaned as Susan read out another word.
"Gas-tro-ves-cu-lar… come on, Peter: Gastrovascular."
Peter rolled his eyes. "Is it Latin?"
"Yes."
I came out from under the chair. "Is it Latin for 'worst game ever invented'?"
Susan shut the book with a bang. Lucy walked over to Peter.
"We could play hide and seek."
Peter rolled his eyes again. "But we're already having so much fun."
"Oh come on Peter, please!" Lucy begged. "Pretty please?"
Peter smiled and started counting. Lucy grinned and ran for a place to hide.
"What?" I complained, but I did hide. Unfortunately for Lucy, she picked my hiding place. I shoved her out of the way and sent her to find her own.
Only a few moments later, she came running back shouting!
"I'm back! I'm back! it's alright!"
I leaned out of my hiding place. "Shh! He's coming!" but it was too late. Peter found us.
"You know, I'm not sure if you two have quite gotten the idea of this game." He was treating me like a child again.
"Weren't you wondering where I was?" Lucy asked, confused.
I sighed and explained. "That's the POINT! That's why he was seeking you!"
Susan ran up behind us.
"Does this mean I win?"
Peter turned and looked at her.
"I don't think Lucy wants to play any more."
Lucy still looked confused.
"I've been gone for, hours."
She led us back to this huge wardrobe in the spare room where she told us this fantastic lie about a wood in the back of the wardrobe and a place called Narnia and a faun named Tumnus and two other humans about the age of 16 named Justin and Mariel. It was completely unbelievable, but she had never lied before so we decided we had to at least have a look. Susan felt the wood on the back of the wardrobe and I looked all the way around the out side. Nothing.
"Lucy, the only wood in here is the back of the wardrobe." Susan tried to sound like she knew everything… as usual.
"One game at a time, Lu." Peter added. "We don't all have your imagination."
We started to walk toward the door, but Lucy yelled after us.
"But I wasn't imagining!"
Susan spun around. "That's enough Lucy!"
"I wouldn't lie about this!" Lucy continued.
"Well I believe you!" I said out of the blue. Everyone turn and looked at me. Lucy gapped.
"You do?"
"Of course. Didn't I tell you about the football field I found in the bathroom cupboard?" I said with a smirk. Peter didn't think it was funny though.
"Oh, will you just stop? You always have to make everything worse, don't you?"
"It was just a joke!" I protested.
"When are you going to learn to grow up?" He asked. I fumed.
"Shut up! You think you're dad, but you're not!" I ran out of the room and hid under my bed. Why couldn't my family understand me? Just for once in my life I wanted to feel appreciated! But it was purposeless to even hope for something like that out of my family. they were worse than the Germans sometimes.